Chapter 14: Gilder Cage and Gloomy Prison
The monastery barracks had seen much suffering and death.
It had been ten days since the cleansing of the outer monastery chambers; the spawns of hell resided no longer within the corridors of the rogues' sacred sanctuary. And yet, the aura of crimson darkness had not faded in the slightest—the golden goodness of the cleansing had not yet made its presence known.
Perhaps in due time, with sufficient patience, the crimson aura would fade—and perhaps, just perhaps, the monastery would be returned to its prior glory.
They edged warily along the darkened chambers in a single file; Saul, Cordelia—and behind them, in rather soundless and fluid steps, Veriannyth. She alone seemed completely at ease; it was true that she wore elogated claws of serrated platinum, and that her hair had, once more, been twisted away at the back of her head. Every inch of her looked prepared for battle—yet her posture suggested otherwise. Gone was the stiff-backed maiden of Kurast, who spoke suspiciously, and walked with caution. Still, she had retained her graceful elegance—her movements cat-like; for she was sure-footed as she was agile.
To Saul, their new companion seemed somewhat an enigmatic presence. Never before had he met one of her kind—for it was rare for those of Entsteig to travel as far as the Jade-clothed jungles. Something about her interested him; perhaps it was the searching look she often held within her deeply-coloured eyes—as though she could not glean enough of the landscapes surrounding her. Other times, he thought he'd caught glimpses of a deeper emotion within those eyes; recognition. Afterwards, she would retreat to the riverbank, where the silent ripples were surely a tonic for her troubled soul.
And yet, as confused and nonplussed as she could be after these recognition episodes, the maiden would join both him and Cordelia—and she would speak of many things of interest; often tales of Kurast. It was as if she were two beings; two souls, forced into the body of one. Sometimes, Saul found himself imagining the woman in a life quite different than the one she described—she certainly looked as if she'd known a home besides Kurast.
"Saul."
He started; his thoughts had clouded his mind somewhat. With a rather feeble chuckle, he turned, then lifted a casual brow. "Hrm?"
Cordelia wrinkled her nose slightly; and with rather an impatient stroke brushed her hair from her forehead. "Over there."
Saul blinked once—then glanced aside towards the inclined direction. "Aha." He said.
A soft, childish laugh. A group of children running about the darkened monastery corridors..
He bit his lip, shaking his head slightly. A lone tremor made its way up his spine—but he ignored it.
The days of his childhood were long past—many years had come and gone since his childhood days; when hour after hour was devoted to naught but frivolous games and the like. How his cousin, and his sisters had ran, untamed, about the monastery—where laughter and joy came in the simplicity of the colour of a butterfly's wings. Many a day had been spent in merry wanderings; and they had been the best of friends—they had been inseperable.
Charsi; his beloved cousin, whom, every summer, they were sure to visit. Seirra—fair-haired and hazel eyed; even then, a beautiful young lady as befitted her station in life.
And Tomei; dearest of all to his heart.
The gentle touch of a hand upon his shoulder brought him back to dim reality—and he blinked. There was a lump in his throat; and he found it somewhat taxing to attempt to speak. A horizontal grille wrought of ebon steel and bronze lay before them; and it had been fitted into an entrance within the ground. The lock upon it had long since decayed into dust; yet surely, none would seek entrance into so dismal a space?
"Where does this lead to?" Veriannyth had come up beside him; and even as she peered into the endless gloom of the chambers beneath her, she wrinkled her nose.
Saul pursed his lips slightly. "The jail levels."
"There's a prison in here?" Cordelia seemed somewhat surprised; she leaned over the gaping hole, narrowing her eyes ever so slightly. "I didn't know that."
"The jail levels were built to hold prisoners of war. About a century ago, a great battle was fought just beyond the gates of the monastery; a squabble of sorts between the two clans that resided within the Tamoe highlands. Not many of us remember it now—and those who do don't speak of it." Saul muttered grimly. "Anyhow—the High Priestess of the time; Elynn Noirdax, rather detested the idea of public executions. She had much power in the community, and she used this, at first, to attempt to persuade the warring parties to cease fire. But her words were hurriedly shot down; and she lost both authority and pride."
Veriannyth cocked her head slightly; she seemed rather curious. "So why were the jails built?"
Saul shrugged. "Some say they were built to hold the High Priestess. Others say that the High Priestess, herself, commissioned its building; to hold the prisoners of war, rather than to execute them."
"What were the people fighting over?" Cordelia lifted a crimson brow.
"Lands and gold." Saul smiled wryly. "Those days, men would fight men, as they could afford to kill one another. But now, they must make a stand—to set aside their differences, and to fight for the dawning of a new, golden era." Here, he paused, taking a low, deep breath. "But I very much doubt that they would do so. The wounds run too deep within their hearts."
Veriannyth blinked placidly at him for several short moments. Then, in rather a dry mutter—"Men are born fools."
"And fools they remain." Cordelia supplied, with a vague smile. "But come, now, Saul. Do we tempt fate by attempting passage through these prison walls, or is there another way into the deeper parts of the monastery?"
Saul made a face—their prospects did not suit him at all. "I can enter the monastery through the waypoint; that is how the rogues used to travel within these walls—but neither of you have been inside. Therefore—" He paused; then pointed blandly into the encompassing darkness beneath them. "—we have but one choice."
A look of grim understanding passed between them. Then, simultaneously, three pairs of hands reached forward—and together, they prised the grilles open. And mere moments later, they stepped, in silence, onto the dust-caked steps—and together made their way into the encompassing darkness of the underground prisons.
He was running—running and laughing as if he could never stop. A small, warm hand was clasped within his—and they were running together, through seemingly endless corridors of deep grey stone. Warm sunlight shone through the narrow windows; and all seemed well in the world.
"Saul! Saul—hurry! Charsi and Seirra will catch us!"
He laughed—and rounded a corner, tightening his hold of the little hand. "They won't, if we hide."
"Run faster!" The little girl giggled—she could not have been more than five. Large, dewy eyes of greenish-gold; hazel, peered up at him from a frame of thick, ebon curls. Her cheeks were a healthy pink from the exercise, and the laughter. Several times she stumbled, as she jogged along after him—yet he held her firm, as a protective she-wolf would her cubs.
"I can't!" He made a quick face at her. "If I do, you won't be able to keep up. And if you fall and scrape your knee—" He rounded another corner, then lowered his voice to a whisper. The delighted chuckles of their persuers echoed all about them—they were near. "—mother will blame me. And that, my Tomei, is something I dread."
Tomei giggled once more; apparently, she had chosen to ignore his words. "Hurry, Saul!"
He sighed, rolling his eyes. "If you say so." With rather an impish grin, he leaned towards the child—and in a single, fluid movement scooped her into his arms. She laughed, clapping her hands in glee; and he smiled at the sight. "Hush, now! Or they'll hear us!"
She clasped a chubby hand over her mouth, and nodded obediently. Yet her eyes were brimming with childish delight—and as he ran, she threw a hand over his neck, and held her cheek to his. He laughed—and deeper, deeper, they ran; surely, this time, they would win the game…
"Saul, watch out behind you!"
Reality came tumbling down upon the druid; for a moment or two, he simply stood, blinking. He had not realised that he'd spaced out—nor did he remember stepping into the threshold of a battle. And yet, here he was, caught within a battle of apparently great proportions; Cordelia and Veriannyth certainly looked busy. The former threw fireball after fireball in every direction, her ashen face pulled taut with grim concentration, whilst the latter jumped from corner to corner, her slender-bladed claws held aloft.
Gritting his teeth, he whirled around—and in the nick of time, lifted his staff to parry the heavy blow of a bone-wrought axe.
The skeletal warrior fell back, hampered by the force of the staff—but it was not yet defeated. For a moment or two, Saul merely stared at it in wonder and disgust. The undead demon had eyes, it was true—but they were crimson; bloodshot, and gruesome; and it was through these eyes that the warrior gazed upon the druid.
The gentle creak of ancient bones filled the air—and he'd barely had time to react before his opponent crumbled to dust and ashes at his feet. He blinked.
"What is wrong with you?" Cordelia shrieked—a bright blue ball of flames danced angrily within the palm of her hand. "You could've been killed!"
Saul frowned. "I—what happened?" He mumbled quietly; he was in no mood to argue. The back of his head was throbbing.
"We were ambushed. Don't you remember?" Veriannyth strode over towards him; and she had rather a doubtful look in her eyes as she looked him up and down. "We were all fighting—and then suddenly, you weren't any more. And there was that—well, thing behind you, and you didn't do anything. How, by the Vizjerei, does someone space out during a battle?"
"I—what?" Saul lifted an eyebrow—and then, feeling somewhat stupid, ran his hand across his nose. It was not unusual for him to retreat into deeper thoughts within his head; but to completely miss the a raging battle before him was quite unheard of. Furthermore, he had been fighting—but how?
Cordelia narrowed her eyes—and with a rather petulant scowl, gave her hand an impatient jerk. The flames she held disappeared. "Seriously? You can't remember the ambush?" She frowned—then proceeded to examine the sides of his head. "Ria, you don't suppose—?"
Veriannyth nibbled at her lower lip as she wiped the ebon blood from her claw-blades. "I don't know. But if he's forgetting things—"
Saul blinked once; then glanced from Cordelia, to Veriannyth. His throbbing of head was beginning to worsen—and he had slight suspicion that it had nothing to do with the vague words of the two women. He lifted a hand, and rubbed at the throbbing lump at the back of his head—then gasped.
His hand had come away bloody.
Cordelia gasped, her eyes widening rather dramatically. "Oh, dear God! Saul, you're bleeding!"
"I know." Saul grumbled—but despite himself, smiled. "Does this mean I didn't deserve that yelling after all?"
She scowled once more. "Sit down and let me look at that cut before I throttle you to the ground."
Saul thought he'd heard Veriannyth snort—but he was obliged to obey the sorceress. She looked practically murderous. He sat down upon a dusty wooden stool, twiddling with his blood-stained thumbs as she rummaged about her pack—no doubt looking for bandages and healing herbs. "What happened?"
"What's the last thing you remember?" Veriannyth lowered herself onto the ground beside him—and with several quiet clicks, removed her claw-blades. She placed them tenderly before her; then gazed expectantly up at him. "Well?"
"I don't know. Everything just seems sort of—fuzzy. And hazy." Saul murmured stiffly. "I remember walking up this corridor—and I remember these cells. We walked past these twice." He motioned vaguely towards the prison bars surrounding them. "And I remember something—heavy. Next thing I know, I'm running with—"
Veriannyth lifted a sceptical brow. She did not move; nor did she question his sudden lack of words. Perhaps she sensed that he did not wish to continue. She wrinkled her nose. "The heavy thing you felt was an explosion of wooden crates and stone walls. The skeletal mages caused them to explode over your head just as we'd entered—my guess is that they'd wished to keep us inside. We made quick work of them, but you'd fallen—and we couldn't find you beneath the rubbled heap of wood and brick. Cordelia nearly had a fit—she bruised her hands pretty badly, shifting the rock and wood." Here, she paused; and it was with rather a pointed look towards the druid that she'd continued. "Anyhow, you were unconscious when we got you out from under the rubble—and you were murmuring something; I couldn't make it out. And you sounded—somewhat distressed."
Saul pursed his lips; then motioned for her to continue.
"Well—it was then that the others came. We pushed you against a wall and proceeded to—well, duel. You must see, then, how surprised we were when you got to your feet and began to battle alongside us; and we thought you were alright. But you wouldn't answer when we called, and when that skeletal warrior came up behind you—" She said, dryly. "Cordelia panicked, I guess."
"Yes. Because if I hadn't panicked, he—" Cordelia said, jabbing a finger accusingly into the side of the druid's head. Apparently, she'd found her bandages and herbs; and though her words were harsh, her fingers were surprisingly gentle. Saul heaved a faint sigh of relief—he'd somehow expected pain of greater extent. "—would be dead by now."
"I love you too, Cordelia." Saul smirked—and he could have sworn that the pressure upon his cut increased. He grit his teeth; here, now, was the pain. "Augh! What I mean is, thank you!"
Veriannyth laughed as she leapt to her feet. She'd re-attached her claw-blades—and her hair had been pulled into a fresh chignon; the previous one had come loose during the skirmish. "I'm going to look around this place while you clean him up, Cordelia."
Saul opened his mouth to protest—but the words had barely begun to form upon his tongue when she disappeared into the shadows. He frowned. "It is a dangerous journey for one to take alone. I hope she does not traverse too deeply into these prisons."
Cordelia exhaled gently from behind him; the gentle, tickling sensation of cold infusion upon open flesh told him that she was distracted. Yet, a moment later, she spoke—and he was surprised to learn that she had, in fact, been paying attention to his words. "She'll be fine. She's a strong woman, Ria. I'm quite sure she can hold her own in battle." She murmured. "And if she requires aid, she has to but call for us."
"I don't—oww!" He yelped; he'd not expected the stinging feel of ointment upon his scalp. "Cordy!"
She chuckled grimly. "Sorry. But I have to do this."
Saul gritted his teeth—but decided against opposing the sorceress's decision. It seemed somewhat silly to refuse aid—and he knew, instinctively, that she would refuse to leave his head alone until he submitted to bandages and ointment.
Cordelia was silent for several long minutes; and Saul could only suppose that she was deep in concentration. And yet, he was, once again, surprised when she spoke.
"Hey, Saul?"
"Hrm?" He grunted; he'd been immersed deep in another reverie.
She hesitated a moment—and he could tell that she was thinking her words over. And then, almost tentatively—"Who is Tomei?"
Saul stiffened slightly. Perhaps she'd felt his movement, for she'd lifted her hands from his scalp. He sighed quietly, shutting his eyes as he did so. "She's my sister."
"Oh." She breathed softly as she began to wrap several lengths of bandages about his head. "It's just—you were whispering her name. I heard you as you were unconscious." And then, somewhat awkwardly—"I'm sorry if you feel I am intruding. I'm just.. curious, I guess."
He did not quite know what to say; and for several long moments, he remained silent, his shoulders tense. Finally, he spoke—and his voice was not his own. "What do you want to know?"
She seemed to have finished with his bandage; for, with a gentle, soothing pat upon his shoulder, she'd lowered herself onto the ground before him. She smiled. "What's she like?"
Saul chuckled softly, shaking his head as he leaned forward to level his face to hers. "Rather like you, actually. She's a pretty little sparrow; sings like an angel, and dances like a bird upon wind. Oh, and she hates it when I tease her."
Cordelia laughed softly. She drew her legs close against her chest, and placed her chin upon her knees. "How old is she?"
"Sixteen. But the day after tomorrow, she will be seventeen." He smiled wryly—yet another birthday he would be forced to miss.
"Oh!" Cordelia said—she seemed somewhat surprised. "Why aren't you with your family, then? Surely, she would wish you there on her birthday?"
Saul rolled his shoulders back into a careless, somewhat non-commital shrug. "I can't."
She frowned—then leaned closer towards him. "Why not?"
"Because." He returned her frown with a scowl; and she shrank away, her eyes widening in slight alarm. "I just can't."
"Saul, I—" She began, softly; and with tentative fingers, she reached out towards him, grasping his shoulder in what seemed a comforting gesture. Yet, Saul found that he simply could not stomach her touch.
He tensed his shoulders, dislodging her hand as he did so. "I am exiled, Cordelia." He muttered. "I cannot return to my clan, nor can I dwell far from them—and this is my penance, my punishment for a crime long commited. You should have realised—I never spoke of my home. I have no home."
Cordelia bit her lower lip—and her eyes were somewhat narrowed as she watched him in silence. Finally, she gave a small, stiff nod; and without another sound, made her way towards a darkened corner. It was to Saul's relief that she did not press the matter further.
They were silent, now—each absorbed within their own thoughts. Truth be told, Saul did not much fancy the idea of peeling the layers of his past. How would she understand the burden he carried? To tell her would bring but two possibilites; that she would pity his fate, or that she would find his sin repulsive—and he could not bear the thought of either.
Once or twice, he thought he'd caught her watching him; and in her eyes were an odd sort of sadness. It was as though she saw his pain—but he was not much surprised by this. Cordelia did remind him somewhat of his sister—and the latter, too, could see when he was troubled. The thought almost made him smile—but he could not.
It seemed forever before Veriannyth returned; and Saul had never quite been so happy to leave Cordelia's solitary company. The awkward silence hung between them as a thick wall of ice would—she neither looked at him, nor spoke.
Perhaps Veriannyth did not notice the air of unease surrounding them; of perhaps she was simply too polite to ask. She wiped her bloodstained claw upon a piece of rag—then spoke. "I found a stairwell—I think it leads deeper into the jails. There are specters about here, but they will not harm us."
Saul nodded. "Let's keep moving, then." He muttered, pushing himself to his feet; he had no desire to sit idle.
If the hellspawned demons had caused pain and despair within the outer chambers of the monastery, it was nothing compared to the carnage depicted within the prison levels. The chambers were dark, it was true—yet the walls were slick with blood; tar-like streaks of crimson and ebon. Rats had infested the prisons; worm-tailed corpses and foul-smelling pelts littered the corners of the corridors. Every once in a while, a solitary squeak would ring within the musky darkness; both piteous and sickening.
Deeper, and deeper they went; along corridors of steel bars, and through solid-stone holding cells. There were corpses; far more than Saul found he had the stomach to imagine. Instruments of torture lined the very prisons; iron racks built upon fire pits—for the torment of fire. Cages built of sharpened daggers that turned inwards at its captive; shackles and chains upon walls tainted with streaks of blood—the mark of whips.
And within these prison cells, the subjects of torture remained, still. They were silent in death; though their eyes remained widened with fear. Many bore traces of having been bound—or otherwise chained and gagged. Even more were limbless—their arms, and legs having been severed and placed in ceremonial grandeur before the very irises of their lifeless eyes. But most had decayed away with time.
For the most part, the prison levels within the monastery were devoid of demons—and only occasionally did the stray translucent spirit cross their path; but the living were but ghosts to them. Soundlessly, they drifted through the walls, and thus passed from sight.
By the by, they found themselves before a great, and narrow flight of circular stairs wrought of ebon steel. It was unlike the two that they'd descended earlier; for the two were narrow, and led only to deeper parts of the prison cells. Saul narrowed his eyes slightly as he tilted his head backwards—and was rather relieved to see the silvery glow of summer's moonlight beams through the circular exit. Wordlessly, they began to climb.
The first breath of clean, crisp air brought about a fresh wave of relief for the druid; and it was with rather renewed strength that he'd pulled himself through the stone-encircled outlet. The silver glow of the crescent moon shone down upon him—and for several short moments, he marvelled at its beauty.
They did not dawdle by the Inner Cloister—but made their way hastily towards the waypoint just beyond the underground exit into the prison deeps. They were not hindered; though it was with rather lower spirits that they'd found themselves once more within the rogue encampment.
Saul glanced aside towards Cordelia; they had not spoken since their brief interlude within the monastery. Their eyes met for several short seconds; but something flickered within the lighter pair—was it fear? Saul found that he could not discern the thoughts beneath her pallid blues—and somehow, it rather worried him.
Her brows seemed to twitch ever so slightly. And then, in awkward silence, she turned her back to him and stalked away, the hem of her prussian-blue cloak billowing about her legs.
"I—uh." Veriannyth began rather stiffly; the guarded woman within her had returned. "—I'll be leaving now, then. Charsi said that she would have my blade ready by—well, now."
Saul grunted sourly, but shrugged and turned his back to her. "Have fun."
She was silent just then—and he thought that she'd gone; she had remarkably silent footsteps. Yet half a moment later, she spoke. "She cares about you, Saul. I don't know what happened back there—and I don't suppose I know either of you well enough. But if there is one thing that I do know, its that she really, truly cares."
"I know." Saul murmured. Then, having found nothing else to say—"You should go see Charsi. It is late."
She must have smiled—he could hear it in the tone of her voice. "Goodbye, Saul. Perhaps we shall meet again someday."
He grunted dully in return; but when he'd finally turned, ready, at last, to wish a proper goodbye, she was gone.
"What am I going to do?" Cordelia exclaimed; she was aware, even then, of the unnatural shrillness of her voice. With a rather unsettled grunt, she lowered herself onto a wooden stool—then gazed up into the face of the rogues' smith.
Charsi chuckled softly, shaking her head. She did not cease to hammer upon the object of her attention; but offered, instead, a one armed shrug. "What did you do this time?"
Cordelia made a face; she did not expect the smith to understand her feelings—for she had traveled beyond elation at the mere sight of her beloved family heirloom. What attention she had, surely, was focused now upon the gently shimmering hammer within the palm of her hand. "I think I've angered your cousin somewhat."
"Oh?" The smith ran a gentle forefinger along the edge of the blade upon her anvil; it glowed a bright blue for several short moments, then faded. "What happened?"
Cordelia sighed quietly, then bit down hard upon her lower lip. "Charsi, did anything happen in the past—? Anything at all that would have caused Saul's exile?"
For the first time since the return of her beloved Malus, the smith frowned; her brow creased, and her eyes narrowed ever so slightly—not with distaste, but with troubled sadness. "He told you."
"Yes—but he didn't say why."
Charsi pursed her lips. And gently, almost lovingly, she lowered her hammer onto the anvil—then wiped her oil-stained hands clean. "You must understand, Cordelia, that Saul bears a great burden within his being. What he has done—what he feels has been done, has caused great turmoil within him. That smile he wears—it shields what he truly feels."
Cordelia frowned—she had suspected, always, that the druid held little more than joy within his being. Yet to hear the truth of it somewhat overwhelmed her; frightened her. She lowered her gaze—somehow, she did not feel as if she should press the matter further. Her nose did not belong in Saul's past.
But Charsi had begun to speak once more. "You deserve to know. But I pray that you shan't think badly of him, nor pity him. He is by far a better man than that."
The sorceress felt rather numbed by the other's words—she nodded.
"Of all his sisters, Saul loved Tomei the most. As children, we, all four of us, including his youngest sister, Seirra, would spend summers together within the monastery. My elder cousins—his older sisters, respectively, preferred the quiet of the libraries; Adynne and Lorelei would never find the time to join our games, somehow. Do not misunderstand—there was never a happier, nor more loving family. Certainly, they loved one another." Charsi leaned back against the wall of her tent, crossing her arms over her chest. "By the by, we grew too old—too mature to run about gardens and squares anymore. Saul had met a young group of boys by then; and it was at that point in time that his relationship with Tomei was tested, and most severely. One of the boys in particular was as he was; nonchalant and carefree—and his name was Eldair Ithen. And for several long years, Saul and Eldair were inseperable; as close as friends would ever hope to be. Yet Eldair had a secret desire; and in the year of their twentieth birthdays, he sought Tomei's hand in marriage. She was fifteen."
"Naturally, she refused his hand. I think—Tomei might have had long held a grudge against him, for it was he who had stolen her brother. But Eldair was not to be refused. He—" Here, the smith's voice broke; and for several short moments, she was merely content to breathe. When she spoke again, her words were rushed, and her tone, grim. "—he watched her as she bathed within the river. And—and he—"
Cordelia inhaled softly; then shut her eyes. She did not want to hear the rest of the sentence; much less than she wanted to force the smith to say it. "No, it's quite alright. You don't have to."
Charsi gulped—nodding faintly. "Saul, he was furious when he discovered the truth. And he could not tell his sisters, nor could he seek aid in his parents. Such a situation would surely have brought shame upon his family." She murmured. "Even now—he, alone bears the burden of his sister's innocence. Tomei herself confided in me; and the rest of the family know naught."
Cordelia shook her head slightly. "I—no, Charsi. Please stop."
It was as if every fibre within her being had been rent apart. The darkness of one such tale brought shards of ice into the very depths of her heart—surely, Saul did not deserve such torment. Yet the reality of the situation was wounding; she could not imagine herself in his shoes.
"Charsi. Is my blade ready?"
Cordelia blinked the tears from her eyes; then offered a rather watery smile towards Veriannyth. "Oh, hello, Ria."
Veriannyth lifted a dark brow with pronounced airiness; she had apparently sensed the tension in the air. Yet she smiled, inclining her head gently towards the sorceress as she took a hold of a procurred blade; Charsi had handed it wordlessly to her before disappearing into the darkness of her tent. "Thank you!" She called after the retreating back of the smith.
"I—" Cordelia began; then stopped. "—are you leaving?"
Veriannyth chuckled faintly. Her deep-jade eyes studied the blade with obvious wonder—and in a precise, yet gentle movement, she slipped it into a somewhat simple sheath of leather and rope. "I have my blade—and my people require such defense as can be offered to them. I must leave."
The sorceress started to smile; but found that she could only nod. "Good luck, I—I guess."
"Safe winds to you, Cordelia." Veriannyth smiled over her shoulder as she strode away. "Take good care of him."
"Take good care—what?" Cordelia frowned slightly—then got to her feet. "Veriannyth!"
But she only laughed as she stepped casually into the waypoint; then the sorceress blinked, and she was gone.
She stood still for several long moments, but the smith did not return. Truth be told, Cordelia did not expect her to—she was clearly distraught. But there were now other things, other thoughts lingering within the sorceress's mind.
Saul.
Cordelia nibbled gently upon her lower lip; and then, with a final glance into the smith's tent, strode away into the darkness of the night. She felt as if she knew where the druid was.
She was not disappointed.
He sat, alone, upon a boulder by the banks of the river Adura, his legs crossed beneath him. His hands were clasped together—and it was with a solemn stillness that he stared into the rippling depths of the crystal-clear water. Cordelia thought she saw him shiver; but did not much blame him. He had, after all, much reason to grieve.
She started towards him; but it was in rather a softened voice that she'd spoken. "You killed him, didn't you? Eldair? And it is due to his sin that you are exiled." It was not a question.
He lifted his gaze to meet hers; and she was startled to find tears within the deep grey eyes. He did not speak.
She held her breath as she walked towards him, her footsteps soft upon the damp soil. Then, with gentle hands, she pulled him close into a warm embrace; and there, in the bitter silence of night, he wept into the enfolding warmth of her welcoming arms.
Author's Note: I actually planned on releasing this chapter at the end of November, as a surprise chapter. But I got to thinking about Saul's backstory, and I couldn't help myself. So here it is! Don't get too comfortable, though. I'll probably not update until mid-December, and if I do.. well, we'll see. Exams come first!
Thanks go out to Ophelion; I hope I've got enough gory descriptions in here to sate your likes! And to Virali; see? Less Saul abuse! Physically, that is! Emotionally—well.. ehehe.
Also, thanks go out to StoppingTheMotorOfTheWorld for the lovely, and most insightful reviews. I've taken your advice and have changed my summary. It probably still sucks, but I think its better than the last one. I hated that one too, actually. Hehe.
I'm now going to throw a game to you guys. Each of you (If you're reading this fic, I mean you. Even if you don't review) gets one question; just one, about anything in general about this fic. I reserve the right to hold back important information/spoilers, but if you've got a question about say, Cordy's favourite colour, or how old Saul is, or anything at all, feel free to ask. Remember to leave your e-mail if you're commenting anonymously so I can send you your answer!
Thanks again, and see you guys December! Please remember to R and R, yeah? Reviews make happy authors, which in turn make good authors. Ciao!